<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>at least the apples taste sweet by impossible_rat_babies</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778971">at least the apples taste sweet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossible_rat_babies/pseuds/impossible_rat_babies'>impossible_rat_babies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shepherds of Haven - Lena Nguyen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, i don't know how to not write hurt, tags? who writes in these tags? not me y'all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:40:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossible_rat_babies/pseuds/impossible_rat_babies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not on watch tonight.” He glances and she meets his eyes with shrug, tossing the last of the apple peel to the street below.</p><p>“It’s quiet up here.” She carves out a slice of apple and pops it in her mouth, chewing silently. It’s nice to eat fruit that isn’t sour—isn’t hard or has spots she has to carve around where worms and bugs have burrowed. “Can see most of Ashtown from up here.” She adds, squinting in the heavy dark only punctuated by the little dots of light stretching out until they meet the dusty white walls of Haven.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>mc/ blade bronwyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>at least the apples taste sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wind calm up on the battlements, the night just cool enough for a jacket or a cloak. Just a caress of the heat of summer still clinging before autumn truly sets in, winter not long in its chase.</p><p>Apple peel falling into Andromache’s lap, gently guiding a knife through the bruised skin. It’s quiet, the last lingering people shuttering their stalls below and chattering with their fellow merchants, others shuffling towards home or the taverns to abide by the rest a good drink or a good courtesan can provide. Men with long handled wicks light street lamps dotting the street below, casting their glare across the cobblestone and drawing moths in to batter themselves against the glass. Lights flicker in open windows, families gathering for dinner around round tables, thanking the One God for the blessed meal and one more day.</p><p>Andromache sighs, breath lost to the wind and she combs a hair from the corner of her mouth, letting it flutter behind her. Footsteps echoing on the stone and she turns, spying dark eyes flickering from the lantern light.</p><p>“What’s toward?” She asks, scooting along the crenellation, enough room for Blade to sit down beside her.</p><p>“You’re not on watch tonight.” He glances and she meets his eyes with shrug, tossing the last of the apple peel to the street below.</p><p>“It’s quiet up here.” She carves out a slice of apple and pops it in her mouth, chewing silently. It’s nice to eat fruit that isn’t sour—isn’t hard or has spots she has to carve around where worms and bugs have burrowed. “Can see most of Ashtown from up here.” She adds, squinting in the heavy dark only punctuated by the little dots of light stretching out until they meet the dusty white walls of Haven.</p><p>“You’ve never lived in a big city?” He asks and she shakes her head.</p><p>“Visited one or two. Conte-by-the-sea, Capra—never stayed long enough to know them though.” She answers, taking another bite.</p><p>“I thought to at one point—entertained the idea of leaving home when I was old enough, travel around Blest and see what there is. Maybe become a mercenary like my father out on the Sea of Plenty, Take down pirates in fearsome raids. But I,” she snickers as if she can’t help but think of the idea as utterly silly, “I even thought of becoming a famous painter or artist.”</p><p>“Impress the world over with your skills?” There’s a smile in his voice and one on her face as she replies.</p><p>“As a child thinks of such things.” She shakes her head and carefully carves out a slice and offers it to him. He takes it and she slices away another chunk, chewing slowly.</p><p>“When I was fifteen I worked as a stablehand for some rich noble in Capra. Helped the horse-master tend to the creatures the nobleman liked to collect--all manner of fancy horse or ahfuri. Had a thing for the beasts. But there was a serving girl about my age...pretty blue eyes, a fair face and rosy cheeks enough to make anyone turn envy green.” She laughs quietly, cheeks flushing.</p><p>“Did you fancy her?” Blade asks softly and the smile persists on her face.</p><p>“As young people or lovers do.” She sighs out of her nose. </p><p>“We would meet up in the hayloft above the stable late at night. We thought ourselves all clever like in those romantic books, meeting like secret lovers do. We would talk and talk for hours--meaningless things, things I barely remember. She said she liked to dance and weave, that back home her mother was an accomplished seamstress--sought after for her beautiful blankets and quilts. I...told her how I liked to draw, liked to paint. Scribbled in the dirt or in the dust on the windows I was supposed to be cleaning. A few sennights later, she gave me a gift.”</p><p>“Paints and a journal?” He asks and Andromache nods, turning the apple over in her fingers.</p><p>“I nearly threw a fit over the gift when I unwrapped it. Lamented about how she shouldn’t have gotten me something so trite, spent her hard earned coin on it.” She pauses, chewing the corner of her lip, a strand of hair once again caught there.</p><p>“She had younger siblings back home to feed, dreams of her own, to leave behind being a laundress and...I don’t know, become a famous dancer or a weaver like her mother. But, she shouldn’t have wasted her coin on me. She utterly refused to take it back, begging me to keep it, threatening me that if she found out I had sold it to give that money back to her that she would have my hide. Don’t you go selling that Anne or you’ll be worse off than if you got kicked by a horse!”</p><p>She looks back across the city, a few more lights pressing against the sky now turned from indigo to deep purple—almost black. Her shoulders fall and she’s a hundred miles away, a decade ago, still clutching that tin of watercolors and the small book of paper shoved into her hands. Hands trembling, searching those pretty blue eyes for why the hael she would give her such an unnecessary gift. </p><p>Silence fills the air, Blade’s attentive eyes still on her, waiting for her to continue--waiting for her to be ready. He’s far too nice to her and she shoves aside the cascade of emotion building in her gut.</p><p>“She told me that it was a gift, something to help make my own dream come true. She even said I could practice painting her up in that dusty old hayloft, or paint the horses. Some kak like that.” Andromache shakes her head, sadness drawing her brow in tight, lips narrowing as she carves off another chunk of apple and offers it to him.</p><p>“Funny how that little dream didn’t work out.”</p><p>Blade takes the slice and she watches him look it over for a long moment, the corners of his lips turning, wrinkling the corners of his eyes just so when he thinks.</p><p>“Where is she now?” He asks, eating the apple slice.</p><p>“I don’t know. I left for the Circle only a year after my employment began and she was still there. I thought to write to her, but...servori.” Andromache sighs. “Hopefully she’s off having someone else wash her underclothes while she makes pretty blankets and dances.”</p><p>“Are you upset? Being part of the Shepherds?” Blade asks and she drops her hands to her lap, only the last bit of the apple before the core remains, turning it over and over in her hands.</p><p>“No, I’m not upset.” She mumbles, looking over at him and he hardly seems convinced. “Not upset at being part of the Shepherds. I’m...”</p><p>She pauses, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, the choke of emotions building behind her voice, behind her eyes. There’s a familiar sting there and she quickly looks away.</p><p>“I am lonely for what could have been—longing for something I don’t even know, something or someone I cannot picture. I don’t know who she is, who she could have been--if she could’ve been a better or a worse than I am now.”</p><p>The words rush out and she sucks in a deep breath, willing the tears to stay behind her eyes, staring up at the sky overhead like it will hold all the answers. Like the gods will point her in the direction she’s supposed to find, the correct path amongst the hundreds and her feet are bloody from all the walking.</p><p>“Could have been a painter.” </p><p>Blade says softly, gently and Andromache can’t help the soft broken chuckle that she lets slip, head dropping to her chest.</p><p>“She could’ve been a painter...”</p><p>She whispers, silence passing between them like the breathless quiet between church bells, the empty space from one resounding ring to the next. The silence of a breath taken in and held, waiting to be breathed back out.</p><p>“We can only do that which we believe is best, Andromache.” Blade finally speaks, exhales into the chill of the air. “Look towards what to do next. There are hundreds of ways by which to go—we cannot grieve for each path we do not take.” He says quietly and he meets her eyes; he’s always so terribly resolute. She nods, looking away first, eyes drawn to the abandoned apple in her lap.</p><p>“Speaking from experience, Commander?” She asks and he gives her nothing more than a careful knowing look, barest hint of a smile catching the corner of his lip his answer.</p><p>It’s all the answer she needs. He pulls himself to his feet, settling his cloak back into place, smoothing aside the wrinkles.</p><p>“Make sure to get some sleep.” He tells her and it could almost be an order, save for the softness in his eyes lingering on her face, the twitch of his hand at his side.</p><p>“I will.” She nods and he looks away, turning on his heel. “Thank you, Blade.” She speaks up, smiling and he nods in return, almost silent footsteps disappearing into the dark.</p><p>She sighs against the quiet once more, eyes falling back to the apple and she turns it over in her hand, carving off the last bit of her apple and she pops it in her mouth. Standing, she tucks her knife away and tosses the core of the apple in the air once, twice, three times before chucking it over the side of the wall. It disappears into the dark, to be lost by the morning.</p><p>She stares once more out across Haven, the black of night finally blanketed across the city, cradling it safely behind it’s walls. Maybe one day she’ll paint it. </p><p>She can’t help but chuckle; she isn’t a painter, but at least the apples she eats taste sweet.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>